


Culinary Endeavours

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is absolutely smitten, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Trifle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 20:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: Crowley spends all day in the kitchen





	Culinary Endeavours

This was new.

Crowley was shouting behind the locked door to the kitchen. Aziraphale knew there were a couple of things wrong with this picture. Crowley wouldn’t normally be seen dead in the kitchen: cooking was “for humans” (said with a slight sneer to hide the affection). And, since when did they have a door to the kitchen?

Aziraphale hummed happily. He did so enjoy surprises.

He pottered round the rest of the flat for a few minutes, before settling into his favourite armchair (having rearranged the layout of the room with a minor miracle, to afford himself the best view of the kitchen door) with a well-loved copy of _Master and Margarita._

The book was entertaining, although a little sad in places. Every so often he would glance up at the door, and smile at the crash of kitchenware. Crowley did like making things difficult for himself.

At 3pm there was an inventive fit of swearing. Aziraphale did hope Crowley was having fun in there. He couldn’t make out every word, but that last bit had sounded like some kind of threat involving the compost heap.

4.30pm. Frantic pacing, more yelling. Aziraphale sighed contentedly and turned another page. Crowley had told him once about his time with Bulgakov, such an _interesting_ man. Aziraphale had rarely ventured past the iron curtain, but he’d eagerly lapped up the manuscripts inventively procured for him by Crowley.

6pm. Aziraphale was getting peckish. He sighed with virtuous self-denial, and kept reading. He hoped Crowley would emerge from the kitchen soon.

It was 7.15pm, and the kitchen was ominously quiet. Aziraphale was beginning to worry. He could sense demonic sulking, and his stomach was complaining at the unfamiliar empty feeling.

8pm. Crowley burst forth from the kitchen like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. He swept himself downwards in a dramatic bow, and present a tiny, perfect trifle.

“Oh Crowley, you shouldn’t have! It looks _delicious.”_

“Just something I whipped up,” beamed Crowley. “Try it.”

Accepting the proffered trifle, and a silver teaspoon, Aziraphale eagerly dug in.

“Mmmph. Is that champagne jelly?”

“Yep. And fresh raspberries, Chantilly cream, lady’s fingers…” Crowley listed.

“It’s _heavenly!_ Won’t you try some?”

“No, no. It’s - it’s all for you.” Crowley was looking anxious, but his face softened as Aziraphale pulled off an impressive combination of exquisite table manners, and ravenous gluttony. “Do you like it?”

“My darling, I love it. You’re so clever - it must have taken you all day!”

“No, it was no effort,” Crowley lied unashamedly. “I could knock you up another one in half an hour, if you’re still hungry?”

Aziraphale smiled up at his perfect demon. “No dear, that won’t be necessary. There is something else you can do for me though…” He took Crowley’s hand, and blinked them both into the bedroom.

“You can leave the apron on.”


End file.
